


when I'm lost and lonely

by Mekina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Soulless Sam Winchester, Top!Sam, Unrequited Wincest, Wincest - Freeform, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mekina/pseuds/Mekina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s tired. So tired of hiding and wanting and hurting over this. So tired of being in love with Sam and knowing nothing will ever come of it. He’s <i>exhausted</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when I'm lost and lonely

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goandgetthegun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goandgetthegun/gifts).



> Once this hits S7 territory, it goes AU. Title taken from AKA…Broken Arrow by Noel Gallagher.

They order a pizza.

Dean settles back on his bed and tries to turn his brain off, concentrate on the TV and food. Chew. Swallow. Take a sip of beer. It's too difficult to not think, not think about the thing in the room with him.

The thing that isn't Sam.

It's not Sam but it's so easy to forget for an instant, when he sees that big body out of the corner of his eye. When Sam is working out or on his laptop, when his mouth is closed and Dean doesn't have to meet his eyes, it's easy to fool himself into thinking it's Sammy.

Sam comes out of the bathroom. Instead of going to his own bed, he sits on the edge of Dean's.

"You have your own." He jerks his head towards Sam's untouched bed. "I need some room to breathe, dude."

Sam doesn't show any signs of moving. Instead, his hand lands on Dean's knee. It doesn't stop there. Sam keeps going, higher and higher up Dean's leg to his thigh.

"Sam, c'mon. Joke's over." Dean twitches when Sam squeezes. "I don't—whoa!" He bucks like a startled horse, Sam's hand settled firmly over his dick. Like it has a right to be there.

"I feel like having sex," Sam tells him seriously, rubbing him through the denim.

"So go pick up a girl and get your hand off my junk!"

His traitorous cock is stiffening under Sam’s touch. Dean’s legs spread automatically, widening to give Sam more room.

“Get the fuck off me.” His voice breaks on a moan. He doesn’t make an attempt to push Sam away.

“I don’t feel like going out to pick up a girl. It’s so much work. Tell them what they want to hear, convince them I’m trustworthy. Why bother when you’re right here? Right in the room with me. You’re easy.” Sam squeezes gently and Dean gasps.

“We’re brothers. You know what this is!” Dean can’t seem to bring himself to say it. The word gets lodged in the back of his throat, ugly and sharp.

“I do. I just don’t care.” The blunt honesty reminds Dean more than ever that this isn’t Sam. It’s not really his brother. Sam would never do this. “Sex is sex. You don’t have to turn it into a horrible crime. You’re an adult.”

Sam is so indifferent. Doesn’t care what this is. Sam would. The real Sam. He would never. He doesn’t care that Dean is his flesh and blood because this isn’t his brother. His body, but not really him.

He wants to say yes. He wants to take what Sam is offering him. More than anything. It’s not Sam, but almost. Nearly. It’s Sam’s body. He’s always wanted Sam. Not just the sex, Dean always wanted more (so much more, he wants to be everything for Sam) but if the sex is what he can get…

Under Sam’s hand, his dick firms up even more. Years of thoughts and jerk off sessions and longing, so much longing, it’s all piling up. Overwhelming him. He can have it. Sam is offering it to him.

“Sam,” he chokes out, grabbing Sam’s wrist and trying to move his hand. He wants it but he can’t. Sam doesn’t know, he’s never known, and this, he can’t. Can’t let Sam know. “I don’t know what’s going on in that freaky head of yours, but we’re not doing this. We’re brothers!”

“Brothers. That’s what you said when you sold your soul for me. You place so much importance on mine, on getting it back. You threw yours away without a second thought.” Sam strokes Dean through his jeans, fingers rubbing just right. His leg twitches again. “Brothers,” he muses. “Never stopped you, though. You never saw me as _just_ your brother.”

Dean’s mouth has gone dry, sick with dread all of a sudden. It’s an interesting contrast to the ache between his legs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam laughs at him. It’s mocking. “Cut the crap, Dean. You’ve got a hard on for me. I know. I’ve known for years. That is, the other Sam has. You thought you were hiding it, didn’t you? The only thing that got you to sleep at night, knowing Sam would never know how depraved you were. I don’t know how you thought you were getting away with it. All those soft eyed longing looks? Whining in your sleep for Sammy? How jealous you were whenever he so much as looked at a woman?”

His most closely guarded secret, the one thing he swore Sam would never find out. He’s known all along, for years.

It’s a world changing realization. All along, Sam knew. “Why didn’t he say anything? Why did he stay with me?”

“Please. He knew you. If he had said anything you would have run for the hills. You hate yourself more than Sam ever could. He wanted to tell you he didn’t hate you for it. He wanted to tell you he wouldn’t leave.” Sam smirks. “He knew you wouldn’t believe him.”

Dean’s eyes fall back down to Sam’s hand. He doesn’t say anything.

“What’s the point in pretending? We both know what you want. You want me. You always have. Why not?”

He’s tired. So tired of hiding and wanting and hurting over this. So tired of being in love with Sam and knowing nothing will ever come of it. He’s _exhausted_. So much time and willpower has been put into keeping himself under control, trying to never let the feelings show, but it turns out Sam knows anyway.

And Sam. Sam is asking him for this. (More of a demand than a request, actually.) He’s always had a hard time saying no to Sam.

Every part of him is resistant, every instinct telling him he needs to stand up and walk away. He needs to get Sam’s hand off of him and say no. He needs to stop it before it goes any farther.

He gives in. He breaks down, after years of pushing it all down and fighting it. He just surrenders.

“Okay.” 

Sam, his Sammy, he would have made sure. He would have asked about a thousand times, “Are you okay, are you sure, is this what you really want,” he would have almost driven Dean up the wall, he’d check so many times.

Dean would be lying through his teeth if he said he’d never imagined how it would be. He has. All the time. Every time he got into the shower and was unable to keep his hand off his dick and his mind off of Sam, he pictured it. Every single detail.

He always figured the real thing, if it ever happened, would far surpass anything he could imagine.

This isn’t the real thing, it isn’t Sam, but…it remains to be seen how well it’ll match up.

Sam doesn’t ask him if he’s really sure, doesn’t extend the opportunity for Dean to withdraw his consent. He just starts stripping Dean.

His shirt is being yanked off before he can say a word. Sam goes to work on his jeans, belt unfastened and tossed away so fast it makes him uneasy.

“Wait, what the fuck, hang on a second,” Dean protests, squirming backwards.

Sam pauses with his huge hands about to unbutton his jeans. “You said yes. What’s the problem?”

Dean struggles to come up with the right words, point out this just isn’t how he should be acting. Sam, the real Sam…but this isn’t. It’s not Sam, no matter how much it may look and sometimes sound like him. Dean agreed to this, gave his consent, and this soulless version of Sam doesn’t see any reason _not_ to get straight down to business.

Never mind the foreplay. He always thought Sam would like kissing. There would have been lots of that. Making out, fuck it if it makes him sappy. He sometimes had a picture in his mind, of Sam leaning over him, one hand on Dean’s chin, eye contact and two seconds away from going back to kissing Dean breathless.

He knows he shouldn’t be comparing this to what his brain conjured up, it isn’t fair to Sam, but he can’t help it. Even if it’s not actually Sam, it looks like him and feels like him. It’s easy, too easy, to forget for moments at a time that it’s not. It’s only a matter of seconds each time, tiny, but all the more devastating when he blinks and Sam is looking at him wrong. Blank, none of the emotion that raises Dean’s hopes (does he, is he, could it be) only to be crushed by the firm hand of logic (of course not you dumb fuck.)

Sam pulls his jeans off so fast Dean’s surprised there aren’t marks left behind. He raises his hips and lets Sam take his boxers away as well.

Once he’s naked, dick fully hard (if Sam’s hand on him hadn’t been enough, the way he’s watching would get him there) Sam steps back and eyes him up and down appraisingly.

“Not bad.” He drops a hand onto one of Dean’s thighs with a soft smack.

He can feel his face flush a little from the pronouncement. He’s a confident guy, he knows he’s attractive, but Sam, he’s looking at him like he’s something to be judged. Scored. It seems like he’s passed, been met with approval, but only just. He bites his lip, can’t stop himself from fidgeting. 

“Get on your back.” Sam pulls lube out of his pocket and waits, watching him expressionlessly.

“Whatever happened to foreplay?” Dean drops back onto the mattress, trying to hide just how nervous he is.

“I didn’t ask you for foreplay. I asked you for sex. You’re a sure thing, I don’t need to soothe and seduce you. Petting and kissing is for women. It’s so exhausting. Sometimes, I just want to fuck.”

“At least take your clothes off. You’re not fucking me fully dressed, Sam.”

Fucking him. Sam is going to fuck him. He’s going to open Dean up and push his dick in. Dean gives a full body shiver. He wants it. He wants it so much, but he’s so nervous. He’s never done this before, never been fucked before. 

Not to say he’s never been with another man. But not this. Never this.

Sam smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. When Sam, the real Sam, smiles a genuine smile, it lights up his entire face and brings out his dimples. There’s nothing more beautiful, nothing that makes Dean ache more than his brother’s smile.

Now, though, it’s blank. Empty. A parody of a smile. Sam is only arranging his face, moving his lips the way he thinks he should. It doesn’t mean anything.

Sam apparently agrees it makes more sense to get naked, because he starts stripping off mechanically. His t-shirt. Jeans. Then his boxers.

Dean feels like all the spit in his mouth has dried up. He’s seen Sam naked plenty of times. Walked in on him both jacking off and having sex (and more than once retreated to the Impala to stroke his cock and come fast and hard, anger and shame burning him up from the inside out.)

This is different. Not only is Sam hard, but he’s about to fuck Dean. They’re going to have sex, he’s about to have sex with Sam.

Not the real Sam. 

This is as close as he’s ever going to get.

He’s reminded every moment this isn’t Sam, but it is Sam’s body, and it gets Dean harder than ever. He shifts on the sheets as Sam finishes getting his clothes off. He climbs onto the bed with Dean.

Sam grips his ankle, pulling Dean down the bed. “Spread your legs.”

He parts his thighs. Sam isn’t satisfied, shoves them wider with his hands. Dean starts feeling the strain immediately.

He should know better by now than to expect Sam to behave as he always imagined, or even to behave like _Sam._ Still, he half expected some warning before Sam started opening him up.

He doesn’t get it, just two slick (cold, fucker didn’t warm up the lube) fingers shoving into him.

Dean gasps, startled. He’s had fingers in him before, adventurous girls and his own, but never two at once straight away. “Shit, you’re supposed to start with one.”

“This is faster.” Sam shoves them farther in, starts twisting and stretching him right away.

At least Sam is giving him this much preparation. It’s still too much too suddenly, it hurts, and Dean’s body jerks away from the intrusion instinctively.

Sam plants a hand on his belly and holds him in place, sliding his fingers out. “You agreed to this, Dean. If you don’t want it, I suggest you leave now before we actually get started.”

Sam isn’t…he would leave it, if Dean got up now and left the room. He wouldn’t come after Dean, wouldn’t pin him down and take what he wants. He wouldn’t. He believes that even this, this thing that’s so far from Sam would never do that.

He does want it. He wants it so bad, wants Sam to fuck him, he just wasn’t ready for so much all at once.

“Keep going.”

Dean thinks Sam isn’t quite done yet, three fingers now, right? Sam isn’t following the expected pattern, of course not. He gives his cock a perfunctory coating of lube, tries to push Dean’s legs farther open.

“Fuck, goddamn it, can’t bend like that!” He still tries, does his best to open himself farther up because Sam wants him to do that and Dean tries to do what he thinks his partners would like.

Sam would’ve asked if he was ready, would have kissed Dean, kisses all over his face and neck to distract him from the burning stretch. This soulless version just lines his dick up and shoves in, taking complete possession of Dean’s body, hands on his hips pulling him into it.

It hurts. There’s no way around that, it _hurts._ The sudden burn steals his breath, his entire body arching up, away. Sam’s insistent, keeps on pushing in.

Dean hasn’t done this before, not on this end, but he’s done it with girls. He’s seen the way they relax and breathe, opening themselves up. That’s what he’s trying to do now, fisting the sheets and willing himself to relax.

It’ll get better. He knows it will. No one would do this if it didn’t feel good.

He decides it’s a waste of time trying to predict what Sam will do when he stops once he’s all the way in, giving Dean a moment. Dean expected him to start fucking him right away

It’s a little terrifying. This isn’t the man he raised, and he has no idea what his next action will be.

The pain doesn’t go away entirely (something as big as Sam’s dick shoved up inside him, of course it hurts) but it lessens and god, he feels so full. It’s good.

“Sam,” he whispers, putting his hands on Sam’s chest. This, this is happening. It’s not what he’s always wanted, but it’s close enough. “You can move now.”

“I was going to anyway.” Sam inches back, Dean’s hands falling away as he pulls out just enough to shove back in.

It feels weird. No doubt about that. It’s not bad either, though.

Dean’s not hard anymore, but his dick perks up when Sam rubs just right against his prostate. “There, right there.” It starts to feel good and Dean, he can’t help it, he knows it isn’t Sam but it looks like him and sounds like him. That dorky hair Dean loves tucked behind his ears, the grunts that he makes as he fucks Dean the same ones Dean hears when Sam jacks off in the shower.

It’s easy, too easy to get confused. To lapse for a second, and think, _Sammy_ , only to be reminded with a sudden twinge that it isn’t. So far from Sam, and every time the reminder hurts. He can’t help it, Dean can’t separate his Sam and the thing wearing Sam’s body entirely. It’s impossible, and it makes Sam being gone hurt even more.

Sam doesn’t seem to deliberately aim for his prostate. It’s inevitable that he’ll hit it on some of the thrusts though. Dean moans each time, dick jerking with the force of Sam slamming into him. It only seems to hit him right then—he can touch Sam. He’s allowed to touch him.

Dean gets his hands in Sam’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss. Sam doesn’t kiss him back, keeps his lips firmly closed against Dean’s coaxing tongue. He wants Sam to kiss him back, wants to suck on his tongue, taste him.

Kissing Sam, even more than the sex, he’s wanted to kiss Sam. Wanted that soft, intimate touch, to hear the hungry noises Sam would make against his lips.

Sam turns his head to break the kiss. Dean is confused, touches Sam’s face. “Sam, what?” His hands slip away, down Sam’s back, sleek muscle perfect under his fingertips. He can’t seem to help himself, has to touch, hands wandering down to Sam’s ass, back up his back, heady rush at touching him as much as Dean wants.

Sam is frowning down at Dean like he sees something he doesn’t like. “Don’t.”

Don’t kiss him? Dean is still lost as Sam pulls out of him, leaving Dean clenching needily on nothing. He doesn’t even have time to question Sam further as big hands land on his hips and just turn him over, pulling him up onto his knees.

Sam pushes back in and Dean moans, dropping his head down even as he shivers. It’s not a good shiver.

He likes eye contact. He wanted, he always imagined that his first time with Sam would have involved them looking into each other’s eyes. That’s what he wanted. He wanted it to mean something, to be special, for it to be impossible for him to mistake it for anyone but Sam.

Staring into Sam’s eyes, he wouldn’t have been able to forget who was fucking him, even if he wanted to.

Now, though, Sam has gotten rougher with him, fucking in fast and hard, fingers tight on his hips. Dean can’t see him, only the dingy headboard and motel wall.

It’s almost too rough. It definitely doesn’t feel as good anymore. Dean grips the sheet and pushes up onto his hands. There’s still some pleasure there, Sam hitting his prostate every so often, but it stings. More lube would probably help, but Sam probably wouldn’t bother even if Dean asked.

It’s definitely nothing like he imagined (dreamed about), it feels…cheap. Like Dean went out and picked up a random guy to fuck him. It could be anyone shoving into him, Sam’s groans as he speeds up the only way Dean knows it’s him.

Years of living in each other’s pockets means Dean knows exactly how Sam sounds right before he comes. Not having a soul hasn’t altered that. Despite the pain, Dean is still hard, he still wants to come. 

He doubts that Sam is about to give him a reach around. Dean gets his hand on his dick, stroking himself fast, along with Sam’s thrusts. It’s so wrong and not what he wants but he’s moaning and arching his back and coming anyway. It feels good, just as good as it always does.

He clenches around Sam as he comes. Sam growls in response and somehow manages to fuck him even harder. It hurts a little more, he’s oversensitive. It’s only two more thrusts until Sam comes. Sam slows and then gradually stops moving.

Dean sighs and drops his head down. He expects Sam to wait a minute before pulling out. He does it right away.

“Fuck!” The sudden withdrawal has him trembling a little. He’s sore, and so suddenly empty, and—leaking? “Sam, you didn’t wear a condom.”

He never imagined Sam wearing a condom in his fantasies, always imagined Sam filling him up, claiming him. This Sam, he’s been having a lot of sex. Who knows where he’s been, and Dean has never had unprotected sex before. Not ever, but he’s still had a lot of sex.

It was just another way he wanted it to be different with Sam. Special.

That’s not the reason Sam didn’t wear a condom. Whatever his reason, it’s nothing like what Dean’s would’ve been (if Sam had consulted him on the matter, which he certainly didn’t.)

“What’s the point? I don’t think you need to worry about catching an STD and dying from it. However you die, it won’t be something normal like that.”

The words sting. Dean knows the truth in them, and how unlikely he is to die from something ordinary, but still. He just disregards Dean’s wellbeing so quickly.

Dean shakes his head and rolls onto his back, wincing a little. Fuck, he’s really sore. He’s prepared for cuddling, he wants it. After the sex, he’s imagined Sam wrapped around him, treating Dean like his personal teddy bear. Cuddling. He likes it, likes being close to his partners, and more than anyone else he wants that with Sam.

Sam slaps Dean’s shoulder. “Saved me a couple of bucks.” He heads for the bathroom.

That has to be the fastest Dean’s ever had leave him after sex. He props himself up on his elbows, staring blankly at the closed door (Sam doesn’t shower with the door open since he lost his soul.) He saved Sam the money he would have spent on a hooker otherwise.

He drops back onto the mattress, laying in his own come and looking at the ceiling. After all these years, he gave in and did it and it wasn’t even worth it. It was nothing to Sam, it wasn’t even fucking Sam! Not Sam at all, and no matter how Dean might have tried to fool himself, it wasn’t him. Wasn’t even close.

Nothing like he imagined, nothing like he wanted.

The temperature in the room hasn’t changed, yet Dean feels cold all of a sudden. He rolls onto his side to try and lessen the dull ache in his ass, doesn’t bother with getting under the blanket. He’s just made the stupidest mistake of his life, and it turns out it wasn’t even worth it.

****

Mixed in with the rush of fire and torture and Lucifer’s mocking laughter, Sam gets memories of that year he spent soulless. He’s almost physically sick at the things he did. Killing civilians just to get a direct line of fire to the monsters, meaningless sex with dozens of women, including hookers.

He almost killed Bobby.

Dean. Jesus. He almost can’t stand the memories of Dean, seeing his brother looking at him like that. Suspicious. Wary of him, like Sam would’ve knifed him in the back at the first opportunity. (And that soulless version of him probably would have.) Dean hasn’t looked at him like that for a long time, and it brings back memories of demon blood and _monster_ , Dean’s voicemail and hallucinations of Dean denying he was ever his brother.

Sam almost thinks that’s the worst, until he’s hit with something even harder to deal with.

Dean, legs spread wide and trying to kiss him, trying to touch him. Dean on his hands and knees, shaking and moaning as he came.

He’d felt so good. Sam can almost feel it, how good he felt. Tight and perfect, making the prettiest noises. 

Living so close together, Sam has walked in on Dean more than once. He’s heard him jacking off, having sex, seen and heard all kinds of things he wouldn’t have if they had boundaries like normal people. Never this.

This is more than accidentally overhearing Dean in the shower. This is a line he never wanted or intended to cross.

Sam has to sit down once he remembers that, honestly feeling like he might throw up. He never wanted this. It seems like he’s known forever how Dean feels about him. He accepted it eventually as just another way Dean loved him, but he never, ever wanted Dean in the same way.

It happened, and he didn’t agree to this. He never gave his consent. His body did, but that wasn’t him. Not entirely.

Dean is across the room in an instant, hovering protectively. “Sammy?”

This is the first time he’s been able to actually sort through the memories that were held back by the wall. For a while he was too busy burning up, inside and out.

“Fuck you, Dean.” Sam stands up and brushes away Dean’s concerned hands. “How could you do that?” Dean’s eyes go deer in headlights wide. He looks startled. Caught out. He knows, he knows that Sam knows. “I fucking trusted you.”

“Sam—“

“No.” Sam just wants to hit Dean, wants to make him understand how this feels, the realization that all the trust he placed in Dean? He never should have. The one thing Sam thought Dean would never do. He was so sure Dean would never cross that line but he did, and he did it without Sam’s consent. “I never agreed to that. I never wanted it!” The words to make Dean aware of just how big this betrayal is won’t come. They pile up and lodge in his throat.

Dean makes another attempt to touch Sam, reaching out like he can make it all better. Sam recoils. He wants Dean’s hands on him even less than that other version of him did. 

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me.” Unlike before he’s here now, and he gets to say whether not Dean’s hands are on him.

Dean’s arms drop down to his sides, and Sam makes it into the other room unhindered.

When he first realized the truth of how Dean felt about him, Sam panicked. It freaked him out big time, maybe even made him uncomfortable being around Dean, but eventually, he learned to live with it. He’s never been thrilled that Dean is in love with him, but he accepted it.

Sam has wanted to say something for a long time. He just wanted to let Dean know he was aware of his feelings, and that it was okay. He didn’t feel the same but he was always going to be Dean's brother. He wouldn’t ever abandon Dean because of it (and Dean wondering why he stayed, even the memory of that hurts.)

He knows Dean, knows how the revelation that he knew would have been followed only by self hatred and Dean drinking himself into a coma.

More than anything, Sam found himself accepting it easier than he might have thought because he was comforted by the fact that Dean would never do anything. Maybe he would watch from afar when Sam flirted, jealous eyes and heavy drinking, and maybe he’d jack off in the shower and let Sam’s name slip out when he thought he was alone, but he’d never act on it.

Or so Sam thought.

He was wrong to trust Dean, and that hurts the most.

Sam can almost hear Dean freaking out in the other room. He’s too busy having his own freak out to have much sympathy.

He keeps going over and over the memory in his mind. Every word, every noise Dean made. It makes him feel even worse, but he forces himself to do it.

Dean didn’t say no. Not outright. He didn’t leave the room, he didn’t fight Sam off. Nothing like that. But he hesitated. He told Sam more than once to get off him, he said they weren’t doing it. When Dean agreed to it, he sounded…resigned.

It wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. He didn’t rip Sam’s clothes off. He seemed unsure, nervous, and Sam, or that other version of him, anyway, kept pushing and pushing until he gave in.

He manipulated Dean. Sam sees it once he thinks about it long enough. Dean was definitely pressured until he said yes.

At the same time. At the very same time as he realizes that it isn’t completely Dean’s fault, he remembers Sam didn’t hold him down. He didn’t threaten him. Dean wasn’t in any way forced.

He should have been stronger. Should have said no.

Their relationship and what he thought Sam would have wanted should have been more important than Dean’s desire to have sex with him.

Sam’s not sure what is stronger, his anger, or his disappointment.

He goes back into the other room. Dean looks terrible. Scared. He can’t even seem to meet Sam’s eyes.

“That wasn’t me.” Dean nods. “It may have been my body, but it wasn’t me. You know I didn’t want that. You know I don’t feel like that about you.”

Dean rubs his palm over his face. “I know.”

“I’m so disappointed, Dean. I thought I could trust you.” He leaves it at that, the past tense, clear to Dean that he realizes now he shouldn’t have.

He goes straight to bed after that, and dreams about the way Dean felt when he came.

Dean doesn’t come into the bedroom. Sam isn’t sure whether he sleeps at all.

*

Sam wakes up and shuffles out of the bedroom. Dean is nowhere to be seen. He looks immediately to the table where the car keys were last night.

They’re gone.

“Fuck.” Sam begins to panic. Dean might have taken off, it would be just like him. He would think he was protecting Sam, from himself. Or something. “Goddamn it!”

If Dean’s left him, after this… He’s still pretty disgusted with his soulless self and with Dean, but he doesn’t want Dean to go. 

He throws the door open (they’re squatting in an abandoned house, the thing almost flies off the hinges) and stops, relieved, once he realizes the Impala is still parked outside.

Dean is in the backseat. He looks even worse than he did yesterday.

Sam takes a deep breath and taps on the window. He’s not sure he really wants to be near Dean right now, but this needs to be talked about. He knows that. The longer they leave it, the worse it’s going to be. It’s not like he’s going to get any less angry by waiting.

He’s still furious, and so disappointed, but at the same time he remembers how Dean was. It didn’t seem to be all that good for him (not like it was for Sam, from his end it was good, Sam remembers how he…that version of himself jacked off afterwards thinking about it), he just seemed so distant and hurt after.

Dean sits up and turns to look at him through the window. He looks so guilty.

Sam waits until Dean rolls the window down. “Let’s talk.”

Dean opens the door and waits for Sam to get in.

Sam shakes his head. He feels a little guilty when Dean looks hurt. He’s not ready to get too close to Dean. He can’t. Not yet.

“Okay. I deserve that.” His brother pulls the car door closed again and settles back into the seat expectantly.

“He, I mean I, that year I was gone, that soulless version of me.” Sam is tripping over the words. He doesn’t even know how to refer to whatever he was during that year, it wasn’t him. In a way, though, it feels like it _was_ him because all the memories are right there, as if he experienced them firsthand. “I know he pressured you until you gave in.”

“Sammy.” Dean’s almost desperate looking at him. “Don’t, don’t do that. This is my fault. I fucked up. I know it.” 

“Dean.” Sam pushes his hair back in frustration. Dean always does this. No matter what, he always blames himself. No blame could possibly go to Sam, not even a twisted soulless version. Dean takes it all on himself. “You’re not entirely to blame here. I get that. But,” he hurries on, just in case Dean starts to think that’s it and he’s off the hook, “You weren’t forced. I trusted you not to ever act on your feelings. And you did anyway. I don’t…I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to trust you like that again.”

If he ever does.

He doesn’t want to think about that right now, about what it’ll be like if he never gets to a place he can trust Dean unconditionally again.

He has to, at the same time. Sam has to consider the possibility that this, what Dean did, might have strained their relationship to a point where it can’t be repaired.

Sam’s not actively trying to think of it, but it’s all still there in the back of his mind. Dean moaning and trying to kiss him. He doesn’t know what to do with that. It’s nothing he wants in his head, but he can’t get rid of it either.

Dean’s nodding, not looking at him anymore. “Okay. You can take the Impala if you want.”

What? He almost does a double take. Dean’s voice is heavy with resignation. He thinks Sam is going to leave.

Of course he does. Anytime Sam gets even the slightest bit upset he defaults to that belief, that he’s going to take off and abandon Dean. To be fair, he has a history of storming off and coming back later, apologetic.

Sometimes he just has to get away from Dean looking so miserable and guilty, like he always does when Sam is angry at him.

That’s not going to do any good here. If he leaves, it’ll just drive more distance between them and make it even harder to get back to how they used to be.

Sam wants to trust Dean again. He does.

Almost as much as he wants to just scrub his mind clean.

“I’m not leaving you, Dean.” He starts to reach through the window, to touch Dean’s shoulder. He pulls back at the last second. “I’m not going anywhere.” Dean doesn’t say anything. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

*

It takes time.

Immediately after his memories coming back, Sam gets a separate motel room for himself. It cost more but it makes things a little easier.

At first, he just can’t handle having Dean so close all the time. It’s bad enough in the car, he doesn’t want him right there at night as well.

It’s hard to sleep without the sounds of Dean asleep mere feet away, but since he can’t hear Dean, Dean can’t hear him.

He’s still dreaming about it. Sam dreams about what happened with Dean, and more than once he wakes up hard. He doesn’t touch himself. Can’t. Won’t.

Sam’s not entirely sure whether he makes noise when he dreams, but it’s better to avoid the awkwardness that would result if he did.

It’s almost worse than the memories of pain and hellfire. That, he’s dealing with that. Pain. He’s known pain his entire life, and what he experienced in hell was worse than anything else, but it’s still pain.

The sex with Dean, though. That he isn’t sure what to do with. It didn’t hurt, not for Sam. Instead it’s remembered pleasure. Maybe if it had been terrible it would be easier to push aside. No, it was amazing. That’s just why it’s so hard to handle.

So there’s that, in his head every time he looks at Dean. It’s not what he wants to be thinking when he sees his brother, not at all. Sam doesn’t want to remember the betrayal of his trust and the sex that he didn’t want.

But whatever, it’s there, and he has to accept it and try and move on. Eventually, he goes back to a single room. Dean looks so surprised and grateful when Sam follows him into the room that he knows he made the right choice.

Other things take longer. Sam still doesn’t want Dean touching him. He’s just not ready for that yet. It hurts, knowing that their relationship is so strained because of a stupid decision Dean made (and Sam, or the Sam without a soul, anyway, mustn’t forget him.) They didn’t touch a lot at the best of times, or so it seemed. Sam always thought they didn’t, anyway.

It’s only once it’s gone he realizes just how much contact they had. Dean patting him on the back, walking with their shoulders brushing, hands meeting when Dean would pass him a knife, a gun, beer. Now Dean draws back every time he almost touches Sam, and Sam moves away when he thinks Dean might try.

He misses it. Sam would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t, but it’s not time for that. Not yet.

*

Sam’s behind the wheel, a rarity. Dean isn’t asleep. He’s just staring out the window. Dean turns to Sam in surprise when he pulls the car over.

He doesn’t offer an explanation, and Dean doesn’t need one. When Sam moves to sit on the hood of the car, Dean is right after him, sitting as far away as possible. 

He scoots closer to Dean, close enough that their thighs are almost touching. 

Dean looks down at the minuscule distance between them. “Wish we had some beer. Or whiskey.” He shrugs and leans back.

“I know about how you feel.” Dean sighs, like he was hoping they wouldn’t have to talk about it. “You know I do. And even after what happened, I know that your feelings, that isn’t going to change.” Sam meets Dean’s eyes. “I don’t mind. You can, you can feel whatever you feel, and I’m not going to try and stop you.”

“You couldn’t anyway, Sammy. I’ve tried to stop it myself. Never works.”

“Okay. I just mean, I know, and it’s fine. It’s something I’ve known and accepted a long time ago.” This isn’t easy to say. “But you’ve got to understand. What happened us when I was soulless. I didn’t want that.” He’s told Dean this before. One more time, just so they’re clear and can move on, past this stupid mistake. “I still don’t. I know you do. I can’t be that for you, Dean.”

“I get it,” Dean says. It’s sad, but unsurprised.

Sam nods, Dean nods back, and he tries a tentative smile. When Dean reaches out to him, probably to touch his shoulder, Sam lets him.

It’s a start.


End file.
